


Part Une

by orphan_account



Series: Hors de Prix [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine works as a bartender at a hotel to put himself through school. <br/>One night he meets Kurt, one of the hotel's guests. </p>
<p>There is a lot of attraction and some misunderstandings...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part Une

**Author's Note:**

> Found [here](http://klainewritings.tumblr.com/tagged/hors-de-prix) on tumblr.
> 
> Inspired by the movie _Hors de Prix_ with Audrey Tautou.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome.  
> This will be continued and finished but RL is busy at the moment, so I do not yet know when.

Blaine is tired. The hotel bar is empty, has been for the last few nights. It’s not the season to travel, and not the weekend to bring the odd guest of their hotel down after nine. 

Blaine bites back a groan and drops his head on the bar top. He’s exhausted. He’s barely had time to catch his breath since Joe got sick and he had to cover his shifts not only at the bar but also at the door and as valet. If only the hotel policy didn’t pride itself with an open bar to one at night. 

A glance at the clock reveals it’s barely after ten. 

Blaine sighs and straightens, strokes over the lapel of his plain black suit jacket and his bow tie.

The piano sits in the corner, sleek and gleaming in the dim light and oh so tempting. 

He bites his lip, rubs his hands together and shrugs. There wouldn’t be anyone, and even if, he would only be providing music while his bartending services weren’t required.

Resolutely, he approaches the piano and opens the lid, strokes the polished ivory. Such a beauty and barely ever played. He tests the sound and is pleased to hear it impeccably tuned.

He loses himself in the music, a few pop songs to get used to the tune and feel and give of the keys and pedals and then he pulls up a few more complicated pieces Chopin and Beethoven and Tchaikovsky blending together. 

He smiles, adrenaline running through him, and lifts his fingers off the keys, takes his foot off the pedal. 

 

“Impressive.”

Blaine startles and stands quickly, the seat toppling over and the piano gives a dissonant sound of displeasure and Blaine hastens to righten the seat and clears his throat.

“Thank you, sir,” he says and turns. His breath catches in his throat. The customer is breathtakingly beautiful, lean and pale and strong shoulders accentuated by the shirt and vest he is wearing, the long legs in tight pants. His hair is swept up artfully and seemingly effortlessly and his eyes, deep, bright and blue, look at Blaine with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Blaine wants to rush back to the safety of the bar, wants to make the man laugh, wants to grab his hands and dance. His voice is caught in his throat, silent and useless.

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” the man continues and leans against the piano, hip cocked. It draws attention to the way the pants pull across his toned thigh and the slight swell of his ass when he turns a bit. 

Blaine quickly looks away, catches a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of the man’s mouth.

“What is, sir?” he asks instead, feels a blush heating up his face.

“Not even eleven and no one in this bar. It should be bursting with life and someone should play the piano all the time. Do you think the bartender will come back?”

It takes Blaine a moment to catch up. “It’s still open,” he answers instead of coming clean about himself and he grinds his teeth against his stupidity. As if that gorgeous man will pay him the time of his day if he finds out that Blaine works here, and not only that, is as poor as any student in New York. And just for a moment he wants to enjoy imagining that maybe, maybe there could be something between them. And what if the man would cost him his job? He couldn’t afford that.

“His loss,” the man says and comes closer, fingers trailing over the piano’s top sinuously. Blaine swallows against the sudden dryness of his throat and nods. The man chuckles and stops too close, his after shave wrapping Blaine in his captivating smell. 

“Play me something else?” he asks quietly and bats his eyelashes slowly.

Blaine nods dumbly and sits back down, the man sliding on the seat beside him, thighs pressed together. Blaine’s fingers automatically find their places on the keys and the music gives him confidence with every note sounding in the room.

“What are you doing here all on your own? I know why I’m here, but-” you are too beautiful to be alone. He doesn’t say it out loud.

“It’s my birthday,” the man says and Blaine throws his a glance, startled by the sudden sadness and loneliness on his features. It makes him seem eternal and even more beautiful. His fingers twist the melody into a version of Happy Birthday and the man lets out a quiet laugh and sings alone softly. 

His voice is even more breath-taking.

“Wow,” Blaine says, eager to hear more. “You have to sing me something else. What do you know?” 

There is a flash of insecurity on the man’s face before he smirks, leaning closer to Blaine and pressing his lips to Blaine’s cheek. His lips are hot on Blaine’s cheek and he swallows drily, stares at his fingers to keep from faltering. His hand finds his way to Blaine’s thigh, burning through his pants.

“Like what you hear, do you?” he whispers and his breath sends shivers down Blaine’s back. 

Blaine leans away slightly even if his whole body screams for more, closer, more. “I meant it. What can you sing? I’d like to hear you,” he says, blinking rapidly against the haze of too much, too close.

 

“I could use a drink,” the man says and stands abruptly. Blaine stops playing, closes the piano with a dull thud. “Where is this damned bartender?”

“What do you want?” he asks, stepping behind the bar. The man’s face is closed off and far away and Blaine hurts for him. 

“You can’t go back there,” he exclaims, gasping shocked. 

“Well, there is no one here to stop me, is there?” Blaine asks cheekily and grins back when the man’s face splits into a wide grin. 

“A dry martini, please, Mr Bartender!” he orders with a playful edge in his voice and seats himself at the bar, leaning forward to watch Blaine work. Blaine purposefully fumbles around drawers and cupboards before pulling out the right glass and bottle. 

“Martini for you, Mr Bond,” he pushes the glass towards the man.

“Kurt,” the man says. Blaine blinks at him and gets a laugh in return. “My name. Kurt.”

“Oh,” Blaine says. “I’m Blaine.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kurt grins and then nods towards the bar. “What are you getting?” 

 

Blaine has no idea what possesses him. He tries to open the door without Kurt seeing the keychain, giggles when Kurt gropes his ass. 

Kurt who is driving him out of his mind, laughing so brightly, smelling so good, looking so gorgeous, tasting wonderful under the taste of gin and who feels so good pressed against Blaine’s back. 

His hard on is pushing against Blaine’s ass and Blaine groans and catches himself against the wall when he finally manages to get the door open, turns and wraps his arms around Kurt’s neck. Their lips meet with too much force, teeth knocking together and lips getting smashed before it’s right and perfect, the slick slide of lips and the wet brush of tongue. 

They stumble towards the bed, frantically tearing off clothes and sucking and touching every inch of new skin. Kurt tastes wonderful. Blaine drops to his knees in front of the bed and licks at the head of his cock, groans as he sinks down around the length of Kurt’s cock.

Kurt groans, his hands flying to Blaine’s hair, gripping tightly. He gasps and falls back on the bed, tugging on Blaine’s shoulders. 

Blaine obeys, pressing kisses to Kurt’s lean body on the way up, sucking his nipple between his lips before finally reaching Kurt’s lips. They get lost in the kiss again, rutting helplessly against each other.

“Condom, Condom!” Kurt gasps between kisses, rolling them over and straddling Blaine’s thighs. His hands are hot on Blaine’s chest and arms and shoulders. Blaine missed this. 

He squeezes Kurt’s ass, kneads the flesh under his hands and pulls the cheeks apart and up.

“Blaine!” Kurt hisses, nipping at his lower lip sharply. “Condom.” 

“I-” Blaine stutters, wrecking his brain. He doesn’t carry condoms in his work clothes and he hasn’t really needed a condom spontaneously since his early college years. 

“Fuck,” Kurt curses, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice has gone raspy and Blaine moans hoarsely, rutting up. “Fuck,” Kurt repeats and sucks at Blaine’s neck, pushing his thigh up against Blaine’s balls and biting down on his neck. 

“Just like this,” Blaine groans, wraps a hand around Kurt’s cock and feels his shudder, pushing down helplessly. 

“Blaine,” Kurt whines when he comes, biting down on Blaine’s shoulder. It sends Blaine over the edge and he comes with a load moan, throwing his head back.

 

“Shit,” Kurt mutters, rolling to the side, hand trailing over Blaine’s come-streaked stomach and his thigh. Blaine turns his head, watches Kurt’s profile in the soft light coming in from the street and smiles, giddy from his orgasm high. He twines his fingers with Kurt’s and lets his eyes flutter closed, drifting off to sleep.

 

When his cellphone alarm wakes him, his skin itches and the bed is empty. It takes him a moment to remember and then he has to rush to fix the hotel room and his hair, fights the stupid throbbing in his chest and swallows down the tears that threaten to spill. He doesn’t know Kurt, there never was any indication that it was more than a onenight stand. 

There could never be any more between them, not after Blaine had lied to him like that.

He sneaks one of the guest towels out of the bathroom and washes the come off, fixes his hair with some water to his gel. He drops it off on the pile of dirty towels on Lizzy’s cart and rushes down to the front entrance.

He asks David at the front desk after a guest named Kurt, tells him something about a museum recommendation, but there is no one checked in under that name and hadn’t been last night.

Blaine swallows and puts on his best smile and keeps it on until he is home that night.


End file.
